The Things I Can No Longer Say

This is the second year we remember my mother's birthday since she passed away last year.  I wish I could say celebrate but we have not reached that point yet, maybe in due time.  

I wish I can still pick up the phone and talk to her. It is not that we left things unsaid, we knew how much she loved us, and she in turn would say with a smile, "I know you love me," when she got us to do what she wanted unwillingly.  She was our center, the glue that kept us together. 

I want to be able to tell her to lower the volume when she sings off-key in church.  I want to ask her if we can try a certain new restaurant the next time I go home since she just loved to eat out.  I want to tease her that she cannot eat "ambiance."  I want to tell her of a book I just read or that I just watched "Hello, Love, Goodbye."  I want to share my worries, my silly concerns, how painful my bout with shingles was.

I want to tell her of the things happening in our lives.  I want to tell her that her grandson got engaged to a strong and beautiful woman, and how happy I am that they share the same faith.  I want her to be present at his wedding.  I want to tell her they both recently winged as Naval Aviators, not that she would fully grasp what that meant, but she would be proud.  

I want to tell her that her book finally got published and how happy I am that one of her dreams got realized.  I want to tell her how sad I am that she did not live long enough to see it. I want to be able to tell her I miss her constantly and I will see her on our next trip back to Cebu.  Today, most of all, I just want to wish her a very happy birthday.